


Tactile

by ksaan



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Suits, Textures, arthur is a soft boy please let him be, arthur/eames if you squint, tactile sensation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksaan/pseuds/ksaan
Summary: In Arthur’s home, his real one, not one of his many burner apartments and condos meticulously scattered across the globe and filled with hard-spined moleskins and new-with-tags suits, everything is soft. He needs it to be. Textures, for Arthur, are moods – emotions.





	1. Chapter 1

            In Arthur’s home, his _real_ one, not one of his many burner apartments and condos meticulously scattered across the globe and filled with hard-spined moleskins and new-with-tags suits, everything is soft. He needs it to be. Textures, for Arthur, are moods – emotions.

            Eames always finds a way to make a comment about his hair. The shine, the way Arthur always seemed to slick his hair _just so,_ so by day’s end it would begin to curl softly out of place. The ritual of using the slick pomade, slightly greasy on his fingertips, was one that Arthur hadn’t always enjoyed, but found peace in the rote motions and the way his hair felt once it was complete: visually contained and sharp, yet soft and slightly slippy to the touch.

            Suits are crisp, the pleats and buttons giving him structure. People – _Eames_ \- would have a laugh at the bespoke suits that rested on Arthur’s sharp angles and long lines like a second skin, but what they didn’t realize was the intention behind every piece. Different textures for different occasions, a different mood for a different job. Choosing the materials proved to be the most time-consuming part, with Arthur’s tailor begrudgingly allowing the _very particular_ man to run his delicate hands over countless swatches of wools, silks, and cottons until he would touch one that was _just_ right, and his sharp eyes would soften, crinkle at the corners, and the serious set of his face would shift.

            Before, Arthur loved the structure of a good suit. It was a new mood to slip in and out of, a persona to play with. Now, they contain him, reign his energy into that of the precisely controlled Point Man that he’s become, out of necessity really. It’s rare, lately, to get out of the suit – to just be _arthur_ and not Arthur. After _it_ happened and he had to sell his soul to various contacts to get Dom out of the states relatively unscathed, disappearing for a while and letting some of his carefully honed edges soften and go out of focus for a bit seems unlikely. He feels stifled, the thick cotton and collars constricting him and the silk ties no longer contorting to the shapes his hands used to delicately guide them into. Arthur’s beginning to very much hate his suits.

            The moleskin Arthur’s teammates perceive him as furiously scribbling away in is always the oldest one he can still manage to fit some words into. Margins are sacrificed, front and back inside covers are filled with his memos and notes for future reference. The longer Arthur uses his journals, the smoother and softer the leather becomes. The spine gets tired little crinkles in it that he can run his fingers down – a map of the jobs he’s worked, the puzzles he’s solved, the observations he’s made about the people around him. The words he wrote are secondary to the story that the texture of his pen impressions, the creases and tears of the pages inside, and the cover tell. His filled Moleskins are all in his home, neatly tucked onto bookshelves near the entry way so that his fingers can lightly dance across their spines as he walks in.

 


	2. A man with many suits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur likes to study characters, when he has the time.

            Everyone has their own set of textures, some obvious and others neatly tucked away. And when Arthur isn’t working himself near to _death_ on a job and can actually enjoy his morning cup of coffee before it goes cold on him, he loves to figure them out. Little notes jotted here and there in a pocket-sized moleskin that’s been around for nearly a decade and is one of his favorites. He hasn’t opened that moleskin in a while now. Hasn’t had time to.

            Of course, in true Eames fashion, his texture changes like a chameleon – different suits of armor for various audiences. Arthur hasn’t seen all the shifts yet – doesn’t think he ever will. He often wonders if Eames is truly aware of just how many different skins he’s slipped on over the years and doesn’t think he is.

            To someone new, someone unassuming, Eames is _full_ of texture, wrinkles of various depths that never seem to end - much like his favorite dusty brown linen sport coat, which he uses in his defense when Arthur gripes about him having no professional clothing. This texture though, is there to distract, to make people confused about this well-regarded forger who’s shown up in a wrinkly coat, puffing on a cigarette, while his eyes crinkle at the corners in what some may think is a smile but Arthur knows to be Eames’ look of appraisal. It’s this texture that often gives Eames the upper hand and the ability to disclose only what he’d like until he deems new company competent or not.

            Even between team members Eames flits through textures and personas like it’s his job ( _although, Arthur supposes, it is_ ). With Cobb, he’s prickly, like a dog with his hackles constantly raised, never biting his tongue and always waiting for a good enough reason to walk away ( _but with Arthur running interference, that’s yet to happen)._

Eames and Yusuf, good friends with a history longer than most, are weathered together – hardened in a similar sun-washed way that everyone around them knows they’ve been through shit, a lot of it together, and the matching sunspots and lines on their faces prove it. They’re loud and comfortable together, trading old stories and clothing ( _which always too big for Eames)_.

            Ariadne, her eager eyes, patterned French scarves, and ever-present smudges of ink and pencil lead on her fingertips, quickly captured Eames’ heart and smoothed his hackles. Whenever they’re in the room they’re close, Eames teaching and talking and laughing with Ariadne in the way a slightly wayward older brother would. The crinkles around his eyes are there, softer though, and not matched with a defensive glint in his eye. Arthur likes that look.

            But to Arthur, Eames is -- Eames’ texture is _rough._ Rough like a few days-old stubble that scratches just a bit when it rubs across your cheek. Rough like a well-worn but charmingly ugly wool sweater that was an impulse buy at an old shop in a coastal Ireland town during a rare, calm after a particularly bad job. It’s the kind of texture that overwhelms Arthur. He isn’t sure how to handle the balance of scratchiness and underlying softness that seems to grow with age, _not sure if he ever will,_ but it keeps him on his toes. Somehow, the texture between him and Eames is consistent, well documented in Arthur’s moleskin over the years, and that bit of constancy steadies him when he feels a bit unraveled, much like that ugly wool sweater from Ireland is becoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I'm back! Thank you all for the kind words and kudos that this fic has been receiving over the past 6 or so months! I banged this chapter out after having the first paragraph (now the last paragraph) sitting in my documents folder for months. I hope you enjoy it!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a part of the Inception fandom since it's - ahem - inception, eight years ago and have readily consumed what is probably way too much beautiful fanfiction to be considered healthy. But I've never posted my own despite having a large number of headcanons and thoughts about these boys. I do have some more to this I am still working on - a bit of Arthur's textural experiences surrounding Eames, but this is definitely a work in progress, very free-form, and largely unedited. Constructive feedback is extremely appreciated. I hope you enjoy a little bit of my Arthur!


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